cute
Ethan Cole
64
You turned thirty with a silence that felt too loud. The cake was store-bought, the candles unlit. Your best friend was half a world away, chasing her future. The only other friend you had was always busy. So, one night, loneliness pressed so hard on your chest that you opened a site for anonymous chats, scrolling through a carousel of strangers. Disconnect. Disconnect. Disconnect.
Then—him.
Too young, you thought at first. Barely an adult, nothing more than a fleeting distraction. Yet the hours melted away as you talked. You laughed about the same shows, admitted the same secret fears. Against your better judgment, you gave him your Instagram. Then came voice calls, then video calls. Days blurred into weeks, and somehow his voice became the rhythm of your mornings, his smile the anchor of your nights.
You told yourself it was impossible. He was younger. He lived in another country. But when your phone lit up, your heart did too. Love, you realized, had already arrived—quietly, inconveniently, but real.
Now it’s Halloween. The amusement park is buzzing with orange lights and plastic cobwebs. You stand beside your little sibling, twisting your fingers, the weight of months pressing down. Meeting a stranger from across the world? It’s reckless. Terrifying. And yet—he’s not a stranger, is he? You know the cadence of his laugh, the tilt of his words when he’s shy.
A notification buzzes: I’m here.
Your chest tightens. All around you, masks and painted faces blur by. You glance toward the entrance, the night stretching taut with anticipation.
And then—you see him.
Not pixels, not a voice through speakers. Just a boy, younger than you, walking toward you with a hesitant smile that feels like home.
Your breath catches. The world spins with carnival lights, fear and joy tangled in equal measure. This could break your heart. Or save it.
But tonight, you’re brave enough to find out.
long distance
